


Confessio Amoris

by TatyanaIvanshov



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Chevalier's wounded, Historical, Historical Accuracy, I'm broken, Love Confessions, M/M, Monsieur tends to him, Sieges, War, Wounded, that one scene, you know which one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatyanaIvanshov/pseuds/TatyanaIvanshov
Summary: When the Chevalier is wounded during the War of Devolution at Lille's siege, an overwrought Monsieur realizes to whom his heart belongs to.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	Confessio Amoris

**Author's Note:**

> HOW HAS NO ONE WRITTEN THIS SCENE BEFORE?! THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED. FROM HISTORY. REAL. DUDE...
> 
> Oh, gad, I love them so much. I finally managed to get this out after writing it bit by bit for months. More to come, hope you like it, ma dudes. Bisous bisous.

The cannon blew.

He could still recall, decades later, the deafening sounds, signaling the permission for slaughter that he had heard too many times echo across the land of battle. Screams followed. The blood of the bravest, spewing from all angles as horses billow in fear. It was a storm, screeching as many found their demise. Though, from that day, he could clearly see the darkened sky, clouds of grey as deep as the gunpowder that coated their skins.

At times, he still found himself awoken at night by pressing memory of the thick odor it would release. He was a coward to remember the churching in his stomach when he spotted a single finger laying upon the battlegrounds, blood pooling around it with no owner in sight. It was swiftly trampled on by a horse whose rider swung a sword at him. 

He recalled a scream, resonating from behind him before the sharp sound of a blade in flesh put an end to the agony. 

Then, all were slaughtered. The winners would trot up and down the grounds on their worn-out horses, murdering all in sight before reporting to their higher-ups. 

He kneeled that day, adrenaline and fear coursing his body as he sliced his sword into the damp ground before resting his forehead on its pommel. He was breathless, struggling to fill himself with anything but mourning. 

“Ma moitié.” His ears were graced by the delight of his voice. It approached until he felt its owner in front of him, a hand on his shoulder. The ruckus of his armor when he kneeled made it irresistible for him not to raise his head and take in the weary sight of him. And when he did, it was as if the clouds parted and made way for the golden rays of sunshine, radiating down upon his skin. “Are you well?” He asked, eyes as soft as a child’s. 

“I am well.” The Chevalier smiled and he reciprocated. The raven-haired beauty held a hand out for Lorraine, offering his compassion with his kindness. He took it, in desperate need of assistance when the throbbing pain in his foot made him wince. The Prince’s eyes widened, alert as he wrapped his arms around the Chevalier’s upper body to hold him up. 

“You said you are well!” He cried in the soft manner the blonde would expect from him before laying him down and pushing aside his sword. “Physicians! Fetch my physicians!” The Chevalier heard him yell, his tone turning as dark and as vicious as the battle itself. 

“Your Highness, do not worry yourself. Please.” He went to raise himself but the armor weighed him down and Monsieur was already at his bleeding foot, fumbling with it.

“Nonsense.” He muttered, eyeing the wound. “His foot!” Lorraine heard him call at the physician before his dizziness prevailed and all he recalled was slipping in and out of consciousness as he was dragged away from the muddied fields. It was his blood loss that caused him such delirium but the shock and tire from the battle did not help. Consistently, he would hear the Prince yell, calling out to the servants, the physicians, the men around.

The pain got the best of him for he did not recall much else but the sight of Monsieur behind shut lids. He had known the Prince as children, too young to know much of the world. The first memory he had of him was burnt into his mind. 

The Prince, running down the palace hallways, surrounded by gold and intricate architecture, the memory of his dark, bouncing curls cascading down his face and shoulders. The rouge on his lips would contrast greatly his skin that was as pale as a dandelion and as tender as one too. His eyes would burn bright of joy and innocence as the linen material of his shirt billowed with the wind. He was beautiful. His laughter echoed as he wooshed across the palace, the spark of youth infusing every movement. 

The Chevalier could not- never could- stand the sight of him in armor, for the harsh metal greatly contradicted the gentle nature of his beauty, though at times he did look like a true warrior. From their earliest days together he was a warrior but that never stopped him from the life he had within. He would always tease but somehow always restricted himself before it got too far. He would whisper to the Chevalier empty threats in a mischievous smile before stroking his hair and acting as if he were helpless. At his mercy. 

But the truth was they were both just as helpless as the other, smitten with the idea of being together, and even as they grew, the idea only became more tempting. Touches had been exchanged, gentle kisses upon the Chevalier’s cheek when Monsieur was feeling particularly generous and his eyes would, once again, fill with mischief before he bounced away. 

The Chevalier recalled clearly how the Prince never lost his tenderness, the air of a child as he bounced through life with the eyes of a vixen and the cunningness of a fox. And it never changed. 

Though, as he scrambled between soldiers and men to get to the wounded body of his golden-haired friend, his voice turned commanding. Almost vicious. His orders were brutal and sharp but what was happening was unclear to him, drowned in the fear of losing his Chevalier. The Prince’s heart ached at the thought, unable to even process it. So, instead, he took matters into his own hands. 

“Don’t touch him!” He yelled at the healer that had fussed near the Chevalier’s wounded body while Monsieur was obtaining a glass of water to place on the bedside table.

“But, your Highness-” The man attempted to protest. 

“No! You stay away from him. I’ll do it.” Monsieur ran closer. “With your instruction. Tell me what I must do.” He insisted. The eyes of those nearby remained widened as they watched the scene unfold, their tender Prince turned King. 

“Highness, this is highly irregular.” The physician hesitantly said but the Prince simply scoffed. 

“You will do as I command or I will simply have to torture the information out of you. He will be well again!” He sat at the foot of the bed, his bed that he’d insisted the Chevalier be laid upon, and gazed up at the physician with pleading eyes. “I’m begging you,” Philippe whispered, words a man of his rank and status must never utter. 

It didn’t take any more convincing. Monsieur’s hand was gentle as a breeze when doing as commanded. He tended to the Chevalier’s foot until a droplet of sweat fell onto his busy hand but he didn’t give it much thought. The physician’s voice was all he would allow himself to hear despite his valet and generals attempting to grab his attention. 

“When will he awaken?” He repeatedly asked but the answer was the same every time. No one had a clue when or if he would at all since he’d had his head wounded as well when the grenade blew. Yet Monsieur was too insistent to give up. 

His fingertips ached and burned as he worked to have a steady hand, his lungs screaming for air when he’d hold his breath for too long. He had always been stubborn but the women that scrambled around, trying to aid the Prince, had never seen him in such a state of disarray, his sole focus clear and unwavering. 

When his thoughts grew dark and painful he felt tears blur his vision and he couldn’t afford such a compromise to his skill. He sniffled, blinking away the tears along with the thoughts of his dearest companion’s demise. 

“Now, your Highness, we wait.” The physician spoke gently, exhaling in relief at last but Philippe did not match his satisfaction. 

“Wait? I cannot wait. What if something happens? What if complications ensue? He must wake up.” He rambled mindlessly. 

“I believe he will, Monsieur, but we must be patient-” 

“He must. He must wake up.” The Prince softened at the sight of the unconscious beauty that stretched out on the bed. He hurried towards the pillows where his head lay, Philippe’s face filling with concern. “I must strip him of his armor. Let him rest peacefully.” Philippe told the servants who reached forward to help. “I’ll do it!” 

They were swift to retreat and not question, watching as the Prince solitarily struggled to pry off one piece of armor at a time. He removed the other boot and brought all the blankets he found lying around the room to place upon the Chevalier’s now thinly clothed body that lay in the same position, just as unconscious. 

But the Prince did not mind it. He made sure the thick fabric was wrapped well around him and the bandages on the wound were clean and untouched. He fussed over the position he lay in and the manner in which his neck might be uncomfortable when he awakened until he managed to adjust the pillow underneath by gently lifting his head.

“Shh…” He whispered as he sat at the very edge of the bed. His fingertips ran through the liquid gold locks, caressing them back as he intently watched Lorraine for any signs of life. “I’m here. You’re safe. You’re in safe hands.” He murmured. 

Monsieur watched the sleeping face closely, the steady rise and fall of the Chevalier’s chest as he rested. There was chatter in the surrounding areas but the Prince was lost, and all else was forgotten. When asked to deal with the prisoners they’d caught and sign what needed to be signed, Monsieur insisted it be brought there so he could remain by Lorraine’s side in case anything was required.

When the Chevalier stirred in his slumber, Monsieur pushed everything away to run to his side. He took his cold hand in between his own warmer ones and gently traced the knuckles up the veins that ran up his arm. They would pump life again, he was sure of it.

Minutes turned to hours on end and though the Prince fought the heavy urge to fall asleep, his eyes drooped as soon as he lay his head on his arms that were on the edge of the bed, close enough to the Chevalier so he could hold his hand. He squeezed onto it as if it held him afloat, above the water so he would not drown and wash away from his arms. He clutched on, even in the few minutes of unwilling sleep he’d gotten when Lorraine began to stir once again. 

He groaned in his sleep and at the sound, Philippe was disturbed, humming gently but not awaking. It wasn’t until several seconds of fighting for energy later that the Chevalier managed to peel his eyelids open.

He had to blink several times for his eyesight to focus, especially in the dimness of the tent that was lit by only a few candles scattered around. He attempted movement but was quick to realize the pounding of his head and the ache in his foot but what struck him most was the deadly grip on his hand. His chest tightened when his eyes fell on the Prince, asleep at the edge of the bed, still sitting in a chair. 

Monsieur looked so peaceful, all the stress that so often strained his muscles relieved to find the gentle baby’s skin underneath and the Chevalier took a moment to admire. He squeezed his hand but it proved to be the wrong move because the Prince jolted awake, disoriented, and alarmed as he looked around the room. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you.” The Chevalier said, his voice gruff with sleep. 

“You’re awake.” Philippe mused in surprise. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling? Does your foot hurt? Your head? There was a wound on your stomach but that’s properly patched up.” He quickly rambled. 

“My dear,” The Chevalier’s lips quirked up into a loving smile. “I am well. My foot… it hurt.” He said, trying to do so but he ended up wincing. “When I move it.”

“Shh, don’t move it!” The Prince insisted. “I can bring it higher if it’ll be more comfortable. I’ll put a pillow underneath.” 

“Is… is Lille taken? We won?” He murmured, blinking himself back to reality. 

“Hush, my dear. We won. Lille is taken. You needn’t worry.” The Prince looked around for a pillow to place underneath the Chevalier’s foot.

“Monsieur, you do not have to do anything. Please, sit. Actually, it must be the middle of the night. You require sleep, the day was tough.” He said as gently as possible. When he noticed Philippe bit his lip, looking up at him with eyes that were holding something back, he furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” 

“I cannot sleep.” He said quietly. 

“Why not? You were sleeping when I awoke. I will be alright on my own, you may sleep in your own bed.” 

“No, uhm… well… you… you’re on…” Philippe’s eyes flickered down. “You’re on my bed.” 

The Chevalier’s eyes widened and he took a quick look around to confirm that indeed it was the Prince’s tent and it was he who was misplaced.

“Monsieur.” He said sympathetically. “I will move. Call the-” 

“No!” Philippe quickly insisted, coming back to take the Chevalier’s cold hand with his two smaller ones. “No, I asked for you here. So I can tend to you myself. I’m not letting you out of my sight. And I’m sure as hell not letting you be dragged to the infirmary with a thousand other wounded soldiers. You’re staying here where you can have all the best medical attention and I can make sure you will heal properly and not do anything stupid like move your foot when it is uncalled for.” His eyes were full of desperation as he looked up at the Chevalier pleadingly. “So, ma moitié, I am begging you, let me tend to your wounds.” 

The Chevalier was stunned. His heart leaped at the Prince’s concern, the softness in his voice and worry with which he held his hand. Lorraine’s eyes flickered down to their intertwined fingers and his mouth went dry. He tried to swallow but his throat did not appreciate the effort and he ended up coughing. To his dismay, he lost Philippe’s touch as well. 

The Prince hurried to the nearby table where he’d placed a glass of water and he brought it to the bed where the Chevalier attempted to get up. He winced in pain as he did so, the sharp pain in his side slowly dissolving. 

“No, please. Don’t move,” Monsieur said as he sat at the edge of the bed, and reached the glass to the Chevalier’s lips. “Drink for me. Please.” Lorraine did as he was told as he was in no position to oppose and his parched mouth was quickly soothed by the cool water. Though his throat was not too happy about that either and after a few gulps, he had to pull away to hold back a cough. “Not too much, careful. I’ll leave this here. When your body is fit to receive the rest, tell me.” He placed the glass next to the bed. 

Lorraine nodded and watched, transfixed when the Prince smiled in satisfaction. Even his victory smile was warm and welcoming. But it was way too short-lived when it slowly fell despite the Chevalier’s mental protests. He wanted to see it again. Perhaps if he did as the Prince requested, he would see it again. 

The Chevalier’s heart stilled when Monsieur’s fingertips brushed hair away from his face and caressed, running his fingertips through the messy locks. 

“You’re hot.” He observed when his fingers accidentally brushed over the Chevalier’s forehead. “You have a fever?” 

“It’s only a little hot in here.” Lorraine played it off but the Prince did not buy it. He hurried to the table where the Chevalier watched him scramble with items laid out and return with a basin of water to place it on the bedside table. 

“Monsieur.” The Chevalier whispered. 

“Philippe.” 

“Yes?” Lorraine responded, bringing his head up to look at the Prince, taken off guard by his stern tone. 

“No.” Philippe smiled. “Call me Philippe.” He gently requested, the same request he’d made a thousand times before but the Chevalier complied. 

“How about… darling?” Lorraine whispered, his own smile widening as he watched Philippe’s beautiful grin ooze adoration. 

“I would be amenable to that.” He dipped a washcloth into the water and swirled it around for a moment before once again, taking a seat next to the Chevalier. 

Lorraine watched with bated breath as the Prince’s eyes scanned the moment, and began by brushing hair from his face. Once the Chevalier’s forehead was clear, he noticed that it was already damp with sweat. He hovered the washcloth over. “It’s cold.” He warned before, with tenderness in his timid touch, the Prince brushed the wet cloth against his forehead. The Chevalier sucked in a harsh breath, startled by the sudden temperature but he was prepared and under Philippe’s caress, he relaxed. “Is that okay?”

The Chevalier nodded. “It’s okay.” He whispered. He was barely able to breathe at the sight of the Prince, lost in what he was doing, his tongue between his teeth, his lips parted and eyes bright against the flickering candlelight. “Thank you.” He softly said, as if hesitant to speak any louder in fear of scaring Philippe off. 

Philippe’s smile lingered as he dragged the cloth upon the hot forehead, soothing his friend’s burning skin. 

“You’ve got really beautiful hair, ma moitié. Have I told you that before?” His voice was as warm and delightful as a dandelion in the wind and it had Lorraine melting as he watched his lips move. 

“You have.” He smiled at the memory. 

“When?” Philippe recalled clearly. 

“We were in the gardens.” Lorraine began to relax as he thought back, that day as beautiful as the Prince himself, a hot summer’s day. 

“What were we doing?” 

“Fencing.” 

“Who won?” Monsieur dragged the cloth down to the Chevalier’s cheek, cleaning away hints of dust from the battlefield. 

“I did. And you got on your knees and begged for my mercy. You had that look in your eyes… a look that could seduce a snake into withholding its venom.” Lorraine reminisced, smiling as he spoke. 

“Did you? Have mercy on me.” 

“Indeed I did. You were too beautiful to leave this world.” Lorraine’s heart raced impossibly fast. He was afraid Philippe could hear it in the utter silence that surrounded them. 

“And when did I speak of your hair?” Philippe’s heart fluttered at the compliment and for the first time, he let the emotion seep through, even onto his kind touch, affectionate upon the blonde’s skin.

“Well, you took my hand and I helped you to your feet. And you tripped and took me down with you to the grass. You were laughing. As always.” He grinned uncontrollably. “And you dragged me on top. I was looking down at you on the grass… your eyes were the most incredible- sorry.” Lorraine corrected when he realized he was getting too lost in the moment. Philippe giggled. “And you said my hair was more beautiful than the sun. And you mentioned Apollo. And you said I was your light in that cold, dark palace.” 

“And now you are my light in this cold, dark battlefield.” He replied fondly.

The proximity of the Prince had the Chevalier’s heart in his throat. He could barely do more that gaze up at him with large, unblinking eyes, seemingly enchanted by the sight. The silence that sat between them was comfortable though everything from the past years that was slowly swelling between them seemed to be bubbling to the surface. 

“Surprising you need a light when you’re the brightest star of all,” Lorraine whispered. 

The Prince placed a hand upon the Chevalier’s chest to lean over to his forehead easier but as he placed his hand there, at the radiating heat of Lorraine’s body, he could feel his drumming heart and it made his own dance in sync. 

Just as Monsieur parted his lips to reply, a man came marching into the tent, halting as he noticed their closeness. The Prince straightened, eyes narrowing at his valet almost daringly. 

“Your Royal Highness.” He bowed for the Prince. “Your Highness.” He did the same for the Chevalier. 

“Yes?” Monsieur asked, dipping the washcloth in the water again. 

“Monsieur, I have been sent to see if you are ready to have your dinner now.” The man carefully said. 

“I told you, I’m not hungry. I have more pressing matters to attend to.” Philippe snapped. 

“Highness, you must. You have not eaten since the morning.” 

“And don’t have a mind to. Though, his Highness will. Bring that over instead.” Philippe commanded, though his attention turned to the Chevalier when he placed his hand on Monsieur’s. 

“My darling, I refuse to eat if you do not join me.” He said softly. 

“But you must. You’ve lost blood, your body requires it-” 

“And so does yours.” Lorraine took the Prince’s hand with both of his larger ones and held it carefully. “Please. You can take care of me as long as you let me take care of you.” 

The Prince was conflicted, his eyes left to flicker between Lorraine’s and the valet’s before he finally gave in with a sigh. His shoulders dropped and he nodded. “Alright.” 

Lorraine quickly commanded the valet away before squeezing Philippe’s hand. “Thank you, my darling.” He smiled, caressing his hair to expose the Prince’s pale features. He examined him closely, taking in all he could barely see in the dim lighting. The Chevalier’s fingertips traced the crevices of Philippe’s face and he could feel the way his heart leaped. “How beautiful you are. Even still.” He said as he wiped away a smear of ash from the battlegrounds. 

“You sure know how to get me flustered, ma moitié.” Monsieur chuckled as he grabbed a dry cloth and ran it upon the Chevalier’s damp skin to soak up the droplets. 

“I mean it.” The Chevalier insisted as he heard a ruckus, the food being brought in. His eyes remained on the Prince who scrambled to get everything settled upon the bed.

“Can you raise yourself slightly?” Philippe asked, concern flooding his eyes. 

“I can try.” The Chevalier struggled to raise himself on the pillows. Though, he did, with Philippe’s help as he held his arm and adjusted the pillows. “There.” He groaned at the sharp pain his foot gave when it dragged against the mattress. 

“Shit, did I hurt you?” Monsieur fussed. “Where does it hurt? I can fetch the physician-” 

“Mignonette, hush.” The Chevalier grabbed onto his hand and pulled him to sit down on the bed. “All is well. It was only for a moment. It is no matter.” 

Philippe sighed, looking between his eyes and down to the Chevalier’s wounds. “How can you say that?” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “You must be okay,” Philippe whispered, lowering his head. 

“My dear…” Lorraine softened and reached a finger underneath Monsieur’s chin to raise his head and lovingly gaze into his eyes. “What’s this now? I will be. I am.” He gently reassured. 

“I cannot lose you. I never realized how distraught I would be at the loss of you until it was so near.” Monsieur whispered. “The mere thought of never seeing you again makes my belly ache. And my heart. And every part of me, really. I cannot allow you to slip from my grasp.” He held the Chevalier’s hand with desperation softening his eyes.

“Philippe.” The Chevalier said, slightly speechless. “I… forgive me…” He lowered his head. “I did not realize I meant so much to you.” 

“But you do. You are my dearest friend. There can be no one to take your place. I could not live with myself knowing I let you slip between my fingers without confessing my affections.” Philippe’s fingers traced patterns upon Lorraine’s hand, suddenly feeling exposed before his friend. 

“But I know. If I were to pass, I would do so knowing I have your friendship.” 

“No,” Monsieur shook his head. “You do not understand. My affections surpass those of friendship.” He confessed but it only made the Chevalier smile at him. 

“I know, my darling. But… I was simply unaware of the extent of such feelings. That you would look upon me with such adoration.” His smile widened. 

“How can I not? You’ve always been whom I love most.” Philippe mimicked his grin, though slightly timid in nature. The Chevalier brushed his hair from his face and ran the tips of his fingers down the Prince’s supple cheek. 

“I know. And now I can die happy, knowing I have your heart-” 

“Die? No!” Philippe quickly exclaimed. “You will not die! I won’t let you. You will not slip away after all my efforts. We are on battlegrounds, love. I’m sure finding an enemy soldier that would be more than willing to present their lieutenant with my head.” 

“Philippe, you will not do such a thing, are you mad? You’re the Prince of France first. The heir to the French throne. Possibly a future Monarch!” 

“And you’re the man I love. Forgive me but my heart is no match for my titles. How would I ever rule with nothing but darkness within me? If I ever sit on the throne, I will need you by my side as a master of my household or even simply my dear companion. I realize you may wish for a position in the military but I cannot risk your life again.” He rambled on, making the Chevalier smile. 

“My dear.” He murmured after he saw Monsieur was done. “I am not dying. My life is in your hands. I trust you with it.” Lorraine brought the Prince’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon his knuckles. 

“You do?” He whispered. 

“Of course I do.” The Chevalier looked around until he found the Prince’s knife on the floor. He reached and grabbed it to unsheath the weapon and handed it to him, pointing the blade to his throat. 

“Philippe…” Monsieur whispered. 

“I trust you.” He insisted, holding the blade near his skin. The Prince’s eyes held fear but when he realized the knife was in his hand and his alone, he relaxed his grip. Gently, the Chevalier guided Monsieur’s hand lower, to graze against his skin. He smiled at the Prince. “See?” 

“I could decide to slice your throat so easily,” Philippe whispered, the thought turning his stomach. 

“Exactly.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

“I know.” 

Their eyes bore into each other’s as they both held their breaths. The Prince’s hand trembled slightly as he let the thankfully dull tip of the blade trace the Chevalier’s skin, ashy from the battlefield. 

“I trust you,” Lorraine whispered, holding onto the Prince’s large eyes. Mesmerizing, utterly enchanting eyes. He could ask the Chevalier to do anything with those eyes, to murder a man in cold blood even and Lorraine wasn’t sure he had the strength to oppose him. 

Philippe slowly brought the knife down to the Chevalier’s heart and the blonde felt it drum against the cold steel. 

“You trust me?” Monsieur whispered. 

“I trust you.” He repeated. He took a deep breath, his chest pressing further into the tip of the blade which made Philippe wince. He dragged it down before letting it hit the floor when he tossed it aside. He exhaled and moved onto the bed, curling next to the Chevalier’s body as he worried not to hurt him. Lorraine smiled as he wrapped an arm around Philippe, bringing his smaller body closer. Protectively, he wrapped his arms around him and placed a kiss upon his head. 

“You trust me.” He repeated in a hint of disbelief as the prospect began to sink in. The Chevalier nodded as he held him, careful when he touched the little one in his arms. 

“I’ve missed this.” The Chevalier whispered. “The last time we woke up together, you were sleeping so soundly. I just kissed you and I left.” 

“I remember.” Philippe smiled. “I woke up so empty without you. I hate when you’re not by my side. I’m so empty when you aren’t around.” 

“You are?” Lorraine softly pressed, his heart doing flips in his chest. They’d done so much together before, he knew the Prince’s body and what it so desired better than he knew his own and yet this somehow felt different. Like there was more between them than bedsheets and skin and yet, at the same time, as if there was nothing at all and they were both naked as the day they were born, exposed for each other’s eyes. 

“I am. It sounds foolish, I’m sure, but with you around… I feel like I’ve got something to lean back on. Almost… safe. Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m safe. I’m secured. As if, no matter what my brother does or how the sun sets and if it rises at all, I will be alright if I’ve got your hand to hold.” Philippe whispered. He raised his head to look up at the Chevalier with large, pleading eyes, as if begging not to be cast aside and left out in the cold. 

But Lorraine’s warm grip around him just grew tighter despite the slight sting on his abdomen. He reached down and pressed a kiss on Monsieur’s forehead. 

“And what of Fournier or Vaudemont?” The Chevalier voiced his insecurities but the Prince only seemed taken aback, almost shocked. 

“You surely do not think that Fournier and Vaudemont could ever take your place, do you?” But the Chevalier only shrugged. “Tell me, dearest, what does Fournier look like?” 

“What… what does he look like?” He raised an eyebrow. “Handsome?” 

“Indeed. What else? Specifics.” He asked. Lorraine thought for a moment, confused as to what Monsieur was getting at.

“Tall? Blonde. Deep blue eyes. With soft features.” The Chevalier listed, only for Monsieur to smile. 

“And Vaudemont?” 

“T-the same.” 

“Indeed. One can say I chase after similar men but I believe it is more accurate to say I chase after similar men for a reason.” He whispered as he ran his fingers through the Chevalier’s golden mane. He chuckled, feeling a slight heat rise to his cheeks as if he was eleven again and the Prince touched him so dearly for the very first time.

“You say I cannot be replaced and yet you’ve been working on it since… François I believe.” He made the Prince giggle. 

“You can never be replaced, that will never change. If you could, I would be in their bed now, not yours, wouldn’t I?” 

“Well, Monsieur, I believe this is your bed.” He teased, running a fingertip over Philippe’s sharp features that somehow held such tenderness.

“But what’s mine is yours.” He rested his head on the Chevalier’s shoulder.

“Ah, is your heart and body included in this deal?” Lorraine smirked. 

“It always has been, monsieur. If you so wish to possess them.” 

“I would wish to nourish them first, my darling.” He chuckled, reaching for the tray of food. 

“Here. Let me. As much as you adore taking care of me, you are injured therefore I cannot let you do that. I will have to feed you until you are fit enough to ride once again.” Monsieur grabbed a grape and popped it in his mouth before holding another to Lorraine’s lips. With a wicked smirk, the blonde took it between his lips. 

“My dear, I will have to ride back to Paris soon whether I am well or not.” 

“No. You will take my carriage. I will ride.” He insisted, stirring the broth and watching the steam rise from it.

“Monsieur, you cannot do that-” 

“Of course I can. I am the Prince, am I not?” He smiled as he brought a spoonful of broth to the Chevalier’s lips. “Open up, darling.” 

“You are and that is precisely why you mustn’t put your life in danger for my sake,” Lorraine argued as he did as commanded and took in the spoonful. He groaned. “Oh, how I’ve missed warm food.” Monsieur chuckled. 

“I would do much more than that for your sake.” He fed him another bite as Lorraine smiled lovingly. 

“You have a beautifully large heart, mignonette.” 

“Not everyone thinks so,” Monsieur said with a slight tone of sadness to his voice. 

“Not everyone knows your heart.” 

Philippe chuckled, eyes still averted shyly, feeding him another spoonful. The Chevalier closely studied the Prince’s loving smile and the way his eyes avoided Lorraine’s. Monsieur always did such things. Even when he was just a boy and they ran around the gardens together. He would whisper such teasing murmurs in the Chevalier’s ear and put on an innocent smile as if he hadn’t just traced his fingers on his skin provocatively and then danced away like a forest nymph to be lost between the trees. 

“Just a few more bites.” Monsieur encouraged, slipping the spoon past his lips once again. The Chevalier shook his head, barely swallowing it down. 

“Too many liquids.” He murmured. 

“Alright how about some chicken then?” Philippe suggested, putting the broth down. When the Chevalier nodded, he began to cut up the little pieces and made sure they were bitesize. “There we go. Open.” He said, holding the fork to his lips. As soon as the Chevalier took a bite, he groaned. “Good, non?” Philippe giggled. 

“Unbelievably. Shocking what months on the field of battle will do to one’s taste buds. I’ve never been in love with a chicken before.” 

“Monsieur, are you calling me a chicken?” The Prince giggled, making Lorraine laugh. “A little chicken in a cage.” He maintained the teasing atmosphere but the blonde saw through the theatrics. 

“Is that how you see yourself? A little chicken in a cage?” Lorraine asked. Monsieur thought for a moment, a string of thoughts running through his head. 

“The greatest artists relieve pain in art. It saddens me at times… knowing that no matter what I do, never will I be able to leave such a breathtaking mark in this world. Not like all the great artists and rulers and philosophers that have come before us, at least.” His mutters caught the Chevalier off guard. He did not know a suitable response. “It saddens me how I will never be able to translate the agony and torment that a soul can hold, gracefully on a canvas or a piece of literature, and make it so that whoever comes across it desires that suffering in sinfully depraved ways. It’s a skill that only a few hold. It cannot be learned.”

“It is a skill that is exercised.” He laced between his fingers a curl that had draped down Monsieur’s velvet skin. 

“You cannot exercise a muscle you do not possess, ma moitié.” He huffed out a breathy chuckle, sad and defeated. “The only thing I have is,” The Prince hesitated. “Heaps of money. Lands. Envy, possibly.” 

His body still felt heated at the touch. His eyes still held defeat. The Chevalier caressed his hair, soothing him as he leaned into my touch.

“Well, you can use that.” 

“My envy?” 

“No. Your money. Your power. I understand you believe them to be hollow but there are many without it. You say you admire those that possess such a skill, but that sort of skill requires funds to perfect. Funds that you, my dear, have. If you cannot possess it, enable it.” The Prince listened intently, blinking with a twitching smile. 

“You dream too big, ma moitié.” He placed the fork down to twirl his fingers in Lorraine’s hair before leading the locks away from his face. 

“I am speaking to the Prince of France, am I not? There are no dreams too big with the power you possess, my dear Philippe. It is about time you use it.” Though they were swirled together in an embrace, they craved more. They were hungry. The Chevalier felt the need for him pulse through his veins but thought himself too much of a coward for straightforwardness. He allowed himself so little, simply to press his lips on the Prince's temples in a kiss that lingered for too long and Monsieur knew of what possessed the blonde’s heart. As did Lorraine. 

They both always knew.

His excitement fell.

“You are speaking of my brother as well, are you not?” Lorraine’s silence was enough confirmation for him. “Stop holding back. You must voice to me what you think.” He said as if he had read his mind. “You are right.” 

The Prince knew. And the Chevalier understood that much. He knew and yet there was not much he could possibly do about it. They were not speaking of a brother like any other. Or even a brother a step higher. They were speaking of a King and Philippe was well aware of how powerless he was, despite the ways he’d often rebel. 

Lorraine ran his fingertips down Philippe’s face. 

“The siege has been broken. Thousands of lives have been salvaged and that is all your doing. You have led your army to victory, my darling. And your brother may try to claim your victory as his. He may scold you for not being able to do any more but the French people know. Those with us today know. I know. And I am so proud of you, my dearest.” He smiled with such tenderness and care that left the Prince gazing at him aimlessly. 

“You are… proud? Of me?” the Prince whispered in disbelief. 

“I am, my darling. Just as your brother should be. He’s got the most precious jewel in the world right in his court and yet he doesn’t cherish it as it deserves.” The Chevalier gently said. It broke his heart the way Monsieur seemed taken aback, almost as if these were words he’d never heard before. They probably were. “Philippe, I love you.” 

Philippe’s heart did flips in his chest. The way Lorraine was looking at him as if he truly was worth something and there wasn’t a hint of malice or mockery in his tone. 

“Truly?” He whispered, his voice coming out coarse as he struggled to half-heartedly pick up a piece of chicken on the fork. 

“Truly, my dear.” 

Philippe remained silent in slight disbelief. His throat was tightening with the promise of tears yet he managed to blink them away. Lorraine gave him a moment, softly smiling at him as he waited for the Prince to process the information and say something, do something but when he did not respond, the Chevalier picked up his wrist and led the fork to his own mouth, taking the bite Philippe had slid on the utensil. 

He took his time chewing, waiting for his response, and soon enough, it came. Philippe’s lips slammed on his and the Chevalier’s chest suddenly felt hollow. His entire body felt hollow. In fact, he was sure he barely existed, his body a mere empty vessel for all the overflowing love that imploded through his veins like gunpowder on a battlefield. 

He sighed happily against his lips and slid his hand behind Philippe’s neck to hold him in place when he made to move away. The Chevalier kissed him harder, slipping his tongue in Monsieur’s mouth just as he’d done so many times before yet this time, it felt new. Like they were both reborn into something much more divine and otherworldly than their surroundings. 

“You taste like gunpowder.” Lorraine mused, smiling against the Prince’s parted lips that ached to be kissed. His hot breath tickled the Chevalier’s tongue. 

“You taste like broth,” Monsieur whispered, mimicking the smile. The Chevalier chuckled, pressing their lips together once again with a tenderness that sprouted from the earth itself. 

“You taste like… ancient misery.” The pad of Lorraine’s thumb slid between them to swipe at Philippe’s bottom lip, intrigued by its beauty, the flesh underneath his skin that waited patiently for a next kiss. “You always do.” He took the Prince’s bottom lip between his own for a brief second. “And yet by the morning, it is gone. You taste like pure river waters.” 

“I want to taste like pure river waters.” He murmured, mindlessly, still enchanted by the Chevalier’s kisses. 

“Then kiss me.” 

And Philippe did. He kissed him and, after placing the dish aside, crawled on the bed where he was able to take the Chevalier’s lips in their entirety. “I love you.” He mumbled. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The Prince breathlessly whispered, mouths hungry for one another’s. Lorraine giggled, cupping Monsieur’s cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He pulled away, resting his forehead against the Chevalier’s. 

“Shh. Lay here. Kiss more some more.” Lorraine pulled open the covers and Monsieur slid underneath. 

“I do not want to hurt you.” He scooted closer. 

“You won’t. Accompany the pain with kisses and it will be worth it.” The Chevalier slithered his fingers in Philippe’s hair and pulled him into another kiss which the latter did not resist. He let one leg rest on Lorraine’s unhurt one and pulled him closer in a koala-like attachment that made the Chevalier smile. 

“Tomorrow morning the physician will arrive to check on your wounds. The poor man.” Monsieur chuckled. “He’s already traumatized by my threats.” 

“Your threats?” Lorraine squinted down at him. 

“I… might have used a few… immoral ways to… secure your wellbeing.” Philippe’s confession made the Chevalier’s laugh rumble from within his chest. 

“Oh, dear. Were the poor man’s hands trembling as he stitched my wounds?” He chuckled, pressing a kiss upon Philippe’s forehead. 

“He did not touch your wounds!” Monsieur exclaimed. 

“He did not? I believe he did.” He showed off the bandages.

“No. I did. With his guidance of course. I did not let him get near you knowing he may possess soiled morals, my love.” Philippe huffed as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“So, one moment,” He began, confused. “All this was you?” 

“Indeed. I did not let him touch you but rather guide me into performing the right procedures on you.” The Chevalier was stunned. He looked down to his leg and then back up to the Prince that watched him intently, with the softest, most loving eyes. “I’ll keep you safe, ma moitié. No one will dare lay a hand on you. No one will hurt you. I’ll have the head of anyone who wishes you ill. You will heal and I shall take you back to Paris to tend to you there. My brother may request my attention but I swear to you, I shall try my hardest to stay at your side every waking moment.”

He caressed his finger through the fair head of hair, nuzzling his nose into the locks. The Chevalier’s scent always calmed Monsieur. It felt like a loving hug from a kitten and it made Lorraine smile. 

“You vow to never forsake me?” The Chevalier whispered, his voice a soft mumble, barely audible in the midst of utter silence as he realized everything he’d be giving up for the Prince. He felt young and stupid once again, borderline foolish for being so willing to give it all up in a split second for this raven-haired moonbeam in his arms.

“I vow to never forsake you.” He replied in the same tenderness. 

“Even if you no longer love me the same way?” His voice turned even softer, wavering as he spoke. 

“That will never happen.” Philippe firmly said, his arms squeezing around the Chevalier’s torso. “I vow it.” 

The Chevalier pulled his lover in until their bodies were one and he could feel the blood rushing through his lover’s veins as he steadily inhaled and exhaled. He shut his eyes and he felt Philippe’s dark lashes against his skin do the same, his hot breaths falling upon Lorraine’s warm neck.

The night was frozen all around them, the fire crackling nearby being the only source of heat that spilled into the room as they lay intertwined, bodies against one another. Soldiers, nobles, close friends, blood brothers, lovers.


End file.
